The Max and FANGisodes
by TheCatWithTheHat
Summary: Inspired by The Ready SETisodes. OK! Welcome to the story! The flock gets a little kooky! Golf! Tours! Basketball! Fun! T for language. Pure crack. I don't own anything!
1. Money, Power, Skinny Jeans

Chapter 1: Money, Power, Skinny Jeans

Fang walked into Max's room filled with trepidation. She had called him into her room to discuss his blog with him, and it made him feel nervous to be in there. She'd said something about his fans and his image and his blog and even their relationship all being connected and he was worried about how all of that was possible. She was sitting at her desk, working on her computer. Across the desk was a little chair. He sat in it, putting his best foot forward.

"Hey, Max, what's up."

"So, Fang, uh…" Max looked up from her computer and saw him and immediately looked back down. "We got a lot of changes coming over here, at, uh….our house."

Fang looked over to see what was distracting her and saw that she was holding a fat cigar between her fingers, spinning it around. She seemed to be trying to find a place to put it out.

"I didn't know you smoked," he said, but she ignored him, so he tried again. "Changes? Like what…like what kinda changes?"

She ground her cigar into a random piece of paper, focusing on it. Fang swallowed and nodded seriously, pretending to know what was going on.

"See that?" she said, looking at him, and Fang nodded, jumping.

"Fans work when you have images," Max suddenly said. It looked like she had decided to finally get on topic. "When you first started that blog, seriously, we were looking like, like circus-fucking-freaks. I was thinking maybe you could try some suits, you know?"

Fang bit his lip. "I'm not really, uh…"

Max ignored him. "Rappers look cool in suits."

"That's why I'm not a rapper," Fang hedged, but she carried on.

"I was thinking of a, you know, Confederate –" She ran her fingers over her face like how she imagined. "Kinda, like, _stache_ for ya."

Fang was getting worried. "I'm not sure if that's, uh…."

"These are my little 'bieberisms,' kinda. I have these little bieberisms that come to me."

"Uh…"

"You know, you say you have a crush on this girl who's way too old for you, and everybody thinks you're cute, you know. You're a cute little guy."

Fang folded his hands together and put them under his chin, looking away from Max. "I don't…I don't know. It's not really my – not really my thing," he confessed, trying to sway her without really doing it.

"I want to tell you something," Max said, looking right at him. "You're into whatever I _tell_ you you're into."

"Wha-?"

"Why don't we try you in a couple different looks," Max said, ignoring his incredulous look. "Like a montage, you know, like in the 80's, know what I'm saying?" She spread her hands over her head, demonstrating. "You come in, and you know, we'll cut to me, I'll shake my head right into the camera, shake my head at you, thumbs down…thumbs up."

Fang sat there, confused.

"Intern!" Max snapped her fingers. Iggy rushed in pushing a rack of clothes, which collided with the desk.

"Who hired a blind intern?" Max snapped. No one answered.

"Fine," Max said. "Give him the first thing." She pressed a button on her computer, and music began to play while Iggy handed Fang a jacket, which he put on and then turned to the mirror, smiling and making a thumbs up, testing. Then he took it off and Iggy handed him a button-down shirt. He buttoned the first few buttons, then looked at himself proudly in the mirror.

"ALL THE WAY!" Max shouted, and Fang jumped. He buttoned all the others, struggling at the very top one. Pleased with himself, he looped on a bow tie and adjusted it, then added a suit and suitjacket, pointing at himself in the mirror and cocking one eyebrow.

"Sexy," Max commented.

Fang shook his head, took it all off, then put on a red shirt and a black tie and tipped a fedora over his eyes. Then he tossed it aside and held out his hand for the next thing from Iggy.

"Seriously?" he said, holding up the Transformers helmet.

"Seriously!" Max yelled, looking a little dangerous. Fang gulped and slipped it over his hair so that his hair flipped out the bottom. He grimaced into the mirror and made claws with his hand.

This continued. All the outfits and props began to blend together until Fang wasn't even looking at what he was wearing anymore. Eventually he slipped on a random jacket and looked down. It was the black hoodie he'd been wearing originally.

"I like this," he murmured as Iggy collapsed under a pile of clothing.

"That's what you were wearing in the beginning," Max said crossly, but it was her turn to be ignored.

"Money, power, skinny jeans…the world is at your feet," Iggy mumbled from underneath the pile of clothes.

"Blink. Blink," Max said. "You gotta do that in post, you know. Post blink."

"No bling, just music," Fang said to himself in the mirror, and wandered out.

**The Only A/N of This Story: Heya~ New Story right, crazy! But this will hopefully be updated daily with new crazy shit for all of you to read. Based on The Ready SETisodes on YouTube. Go watch and review, my lovelies. This will be the randomest shit you have ever read. Tootles! Don't forget to review!**


	2. Air Fang

Chapter 2: Air Fang

Fang was sitting around one day, watching Air Jordan commercials on YouTube, when Iggy came up to him and bet him that he could beat him at basketball.

"You're on," Fang said, jumping up from his computer. "Just let me get changed." (He still hadn't quite recovered from the little "episode" with Max.)

He came charging out a few minutes later with green and white basketball shorts, a gray hoodie, and wide basketball shoes. As a last minute addition, he grabbed some science goggles and put them on. Iggy grabbed a basketball, and they headed to the court.

"This is who I am," Fang said ten minutes later, staring up at the hoop. The net was mostly torn off, hanging by two or three threads. He gripped the ball in his hands. "It's who I was born to become."

He dribbled the ball once, tossing it across the pavement from his right hand to his left. Iggy chased him, but he grabbed the ball and sprinted away without dribbling. Iggy howled as he crashed into the base of the pole.

"Does that frighten you?" Fang called from the sidewalk, where he was now standing with the ball tucked under his arm.

"No fair! Play by the rules or I win by default!" Iggy shouted.

"Does it keep you up at night?" Fang asked, and then sprinted down the court, making a very frightening face to try to scare the blind guy. He dribbled some more, tossing the ball from hand to hand. "A minor success is the product of years of failure."

He fumbled with the ball and dropped it. Iggy caught it and whipped it down the court, where he shot and missed. He shot and missed twice more before he noticed that Fang hadn't come after him. He was still standing at the other end of the court, staring into the distance.

"My failure will not be televised," he shouted, "but I will ring my success from the mountains of my opponents."

Iggy shook his head, shot, and made it. He whooped and turned. Fang had a mouthful of water, which was dribbling rapidly out from between his lips. Like a little waterfall, actually.

"When you look me in the eyes you will see that I am incapable of becoming a role model," Fang announced. The rest of the water went spewing out of his mouth. "But I am just a man."

"Fang...?" Iggy said uncertainly.

"A man who is full of dreams!" Fang shouted.

"Dude." Iggy threw the ball at Fang. It hit his head, knocking him out of his trance. Fang shook his head and grabbed the ball, which was bouncing toward the gutter. He ran with Iggy to the other end of the court, where he shot.

And missed.

"And BAD at sports!" Iggy yelled, laughing.

The ball fell from the backboard and bounced away into the little river of water by the curb. Fang sat down on the spot and put his tired head in his hands.

"No sports, just music," he said.


	3. Marketing

Chapter 3: Marketing

Fang was dragging his feet outside of Max's room again. He didn't think he'd ever been so nervous about anything in his life. Max had called him back to her room to discuss something again and he was concerned that she would make him try on a crapload of clothing again. He didn't want to do that.

He opened the door and sat down reluctantly in the chair. Across from him, Max was seated and waiting. He swallowed hard and mentally braced himself.

"So, Fang, you know your blog isn't really making any money for us and I think that's got to change," Max started. "You sell, you know, autographs and stuff, but T-shirts aren't enough. I know you're on the Internet, but we found out recently that the Internet has a lot of free stuff on it." She looked almost disbelieving. Fang kept his face open and nodded, trying to stay positive.

"Alright," he said.

"We need to start selling everything." She waved her hands around, demonstrating. "Fang's Blog refrigerators. Fang's Blog coffins."

Fang was trying, he really was, but it was really hard to keep an open mind about all this.

"Listen, I'm gonna tell ya. I'll get someone who's gonna pay, you know, a million bucks for your kidneys, put Fang's Blog on it…you know? Hey," she said, seeing his dubious look. "You look at Diddy, you know, you can buy – you can buy a space on Diddy's body. It's not cheap – but he's like, the NASCAR of being cool. Know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I got these - I got these new hoodies, they're, um…gray, and they have, um, white FB printed, you know…"

Max laughed loudly and raucously. "Aha! The fucking hoodies again, yeah, man!"

"Yeah – I mean, I don't know…"

"Yeah, so fucking original! No, but I mean, if you'd said, like, _double hood_ on it, maybe it would have been fucking cool, or like a hood in the fucking front! I mean like, a _hoodie?_"

Fang's face registered his shock. "I mean, I thought it was kinda – I think they're cool," he said lamely, feeling a bit offended.

"When you step into this luxurious house, and its, you know, humongous layout, and the fucking empire that we've built –"

"I wouldn't call it that," Fang muttered, but Max kept going.

"I don't want you to come in here and say, "ahh…hoodies"…" Max picked up a random light stick and started playing with it. "So, uh, Fang, until you have an idea that's like, maybe just a little more in-depth than 'I got hoodies –' why don't you just get out of here."

"You just want me to leave?"

Max sat there, looking at him with a completely straight face. Fang stood slowly, sure there was some kind of catch.

"Like, really get out of here," Max added.

Fang walked to the door and closed it quietly behind him. Max looked up and put a hand to her forehead. "The hoodie idea is pretty good, though…" she murmured to herself.

**!**

A week later, Dr. Martinez was sitting on the couch, watching TV. Her favorite show was on, and she watched until the commercial break when she decided to get up and get some popcorn. As she was leaving, she glanced at the TV, and then froze in horror when she saw the commercial.

"What on earth…?"

Fang's face was right up close to the camera, and he had a big, enthusiastic smile on his face. "Fang's Blog! Fang's Blog! Fang's Blog!" he announced three times, so everyone knew what it was. "We put the _name on everything!"_

Dr. Martinez sank back into her chair, popcorn completely forgotten. "What in the blazes…?"

"You've read the entries! You watched the videos! Now experience the full line of Fang's Blog approved info-mercial merchandise!" Fang said on the TV. In the background, a group of kids cheered loudly. The camera switched to a hand wiping down a table with some sort of rag. "Is it a towel? Is it a shammy?" The camera switched to Fang to see him throwing the rag over his shoulder. "Who cares! Now it's the Fang's Blog ShamWow!"

Fang had a piece of red ticker-tape that said FANG'S BLOG in white letters, which he put onto a towel. The kids all cheered again.

"Now Fang's Blog makes your gnarly old dude feet feel all soft and smooth," Fang said coaxingly, slapping another piece of ticker-tape onto a white massager, which he threw to Iggy. Iggy was sitting on a stool, and he began rubbing it on his foot while making weird noises. The word 'CREEPY' appeared over his face in bright red letters.

"Flat hair got you down?" Fang asked, smoothing his own hair. Nudge appeared next to him, hair straightened, and nodded sadly. "Bump up your life with Fang's Blog bump-its." He pushed a piece of ticker-tape onto a Bump-It and handed it to Nudge. She put it in her hair and smiled widely, then disappeared. Fang spread his arms in front of the camera and grinned. "We've even got Fang's Blog snuggies~!"

To Dr. Martinez's horror, the camera switched to Max, who was wrapped in a pink snuggie with a piece of ticker-tape near the collar. In the background some light music was playing, and she was concentrating on some knitting. Suddenly she looked up and seemed to notice what was going on. The music stopped abruptly.

"What the fuck am I doing…" she muttered to herself, and the camera switched back to Fang.

"And for a low-interest installment plan, we'll even throw in this Fang's Blog Slap-Chop!" Fang announced, throwing a piece of ticker-tape onto a Slap-Chop. "It's like you just SLAP!" Fang announced, and it showed him trying to Slap-Chop a tomato. The next ten seconds were all of him Slap-Chopping different foods, each time failing miserably. "Slap! Slap! Slap? Slap! Slap! Slaaaaaaaaap…

"BUT THAT'S JUST NOT ENOUGH!"

Dr. Martinez put her head in her hands and groaned.

"Coming soon, it's…Fang's Blog the refrigerator! Fang's Blog the stuffed bear! Fang's Blog the television! Fang's Blog the almond. Fang's Blog the energy drink! Fang's Blog the stapler! Fang's Blog the paper clip! Fang's Blog the Master Pete action-figure!"

Each thing showed the product with a piece ticker-tape over it – a fridge, a purple Care Bear, a TV showing static, an almond taped to the table with the ticker-tape, a can of Red Bull, a stapler, a paper clip also taped down, and an army doll. At the last one, Fang looked a little unsure, but then he carried on.

"Fang's Blog the alligator. Fang's Blog the sneakers! The iFang's Blog. Fang's Blog the cat. Fang's Blog the _flamethrower!"_

An alligator head, Converse sneaker, iPod Classic, fluffy black cat, and flamethrower all appeared with the ticker-tape. On the last one, it showed a quick closeup of Fang's face.

"Kids love that one," he commented, then continued.

"If you aren't ready for Fang's Blog, then Fang's Blog is ready for yoooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuu!" he cried, pointing at the camera. A special-effects made his face appear pulled out and distorted, and words appeared over his face. _NO MARKETING, JUST MUSIC._

The effect stopped and a little shine appeared on one of Fang's teeth.

"And now, back to the show…"

Dr. Martinez heaved herself up and ran into the house.

"FANG~!"


	4. The Joy of Painting

Chapter 4: The Joy of Painting

Fang was sitting alone in his room, having been grounded from the previous episode in which he made an infomercial that Dr. Martinez happened to see. He sighed and looked around.

"I'm going to paint something," he decided, and put on a long blue button-up shirt that no one would mind if he got dirty. Then he pulled out his trusty easel and squirted some paint onto a palette. He sat on a stool in front of his easel and his canvas and smiled, turning on some light piano music.

_Today I'm teaching a painting class_, he decided.

"Hi there," he said, smiling at no one in particular. "I'm Fang. And today, you're going to be painting with me. I'm glad you're here, and I hope you're glad to be here too."

He kept a serene smile on his face as he said this, and his voice was smooth and unchanging. He turned back to his palette and began mixing light blue.

"Today we're going to start with a little blue sky," he informed the empty room. "My sky's not always blue. But today, my sky is blue. Your sky can be whatever color you'd like."

He put his paintbrush to the canvas and began painting, moving his brush in sure strokes back and forth. "Painting is just – well, for me, it's, it's how I express myself," he said after a while. He began to paint clouds on over his sky, which descended about two and a half inches down the canvas and was almost, but not quite, solid blue. "How do you express yourself?" he asked the room at large. No one answered.

"Happy little clouds, just like that," Fang murmured. He began mixing some green.

"Oh – my grass got a little dark there. Looks like maybe there was a rainstorm, maybe a little mud got involved," he mused. "That's okay, you know why, because there are no mistakes." He looked up and gave another serene smile. "Just happy little accidents."

He began painting grass at the bottom of the canvas, using upward strokes that were spaced apart. "Gonna want to use a nice up stroke to get the, uh, to get the right texture of the grass," he said softly. "'Cause everybody likes their lawn to stand nice and tall…

"How awesome is that?" he asked, gesturing at his painting. Little blobs of green spanned the bottom edge, and a big blob of blue sky floated at the top. _F*%&ing awesome,_ he thought, because swearing was part of the reason he had been grounded and he didn't want Dr. Martinez to accidentally hear.

"My subject of the day will be cows," he told the room. "So I'm going to continue by painting a happy little cow." He stopped and thought that over. "Or a happy big cow," he mused, "'cause cows are pretty big."

He put his paintbrush in the brown, and then hesitated, looking at his palette.

"You know, cows are the Stevie Wonder of nature," he informed the room.

Then he paused to give everyone the visual of a cow wearing sunglasses, while a Stevie Wonder song played in the background.

"Let's get started."

He put his paintbrush to the canvas again and painted a brown cow that resembled a cartoonish hippopotamus. Fang had many talents, but clearly, painting cows wasn't one of them. "Let's get these cows grazing, shall we?" he murmured, dotting two blue eyes on the cow and adding a big brown spot on its back.

"Nobody should be alone," he said. "I think this cow needs a friend. What do you think?"

He painted another cow/hippo, facing the other direction. "Your cow may be a little different," he said. "That's okay. Me? I like a fat cow."

He began adding the finishing touches on his painting. "You know," he mused, "painting for me is like freedom." He looked up and smiled. "I want to teach you freedom. And turn you loose on the world."

With that ominous thought, he turned back to his picture, picking up a giant paintbrush.

"Once you have your basic foundation, all you have to do is take the biggest brush you have and smooth it out," he said. He put the giant brush on the canvas and began to brush over the painting. As he did this, Iggy burst into the room with a giant poster of two cows, grabbed Fang's painting, put the poster on the easel, and rushed out. Fang kept a serene smile on his face through the whole thing.

"There you go," he said gently. "My name's Fang. And until next time, happy painting." He looked at his cow poster Iggy had provided him with as the music cut off abruptly, and a frown appeared on his face.

"No happy cows, just music," Fang muttered, and stormed out of the room to get his painting back from Iggy.


	5. Cooking with Fang

Chapter 5: Cooking with Fang

Fang was hungry.

Not just hungry, but really hungry. Bird-kid hungry. Hungry enough to eat a horse. Utensils optional.

His first instinct was to call on Iggy. Now there was a dude who knew how to cook. Just thinking of all the things Iggy could make made Fang's mouth start watering. Succulent chicken, rice pilaf, cloudy mashed potatoes. Douse them with ketchup and they tested even better. Scrambled eggs, stuffed shells. Iggy was the master.

But then Fang remembered he was mad at Iggy for stealing his painting. _Asking him to make me food would be admitting defeat. And manly men never, ever admit defeat. _

Fang made up his mind and went to the cupboard, drawing out his item of food. _This…is the food of MEN._ He ripped off the top of his Cup Noodles and pushed it under the sink, filling it to the line. Then he slammed the cup in the microwave and slapped the door closed.

_I am awesome,_ Fang thought, and pushed the little buttons to 1:30.

A minute and a half later, the microwave beeped. Fang pulled out his Cup Noodles and looked at them. Then he took a long sip, slurping. The broth was scalding, but Fang was a Man Beast. It didn't bother him.

He lowered his cup and stared into space. Then he smiled abruptly, an ear-to-ear grin that would have alarmed most of us.

"No cooking, just music," Fang announced, and retreated back to his Cup Noodles.


	6. Trendy Wendy

Chapter 6: Trendy Wendy

Fang was back in the chair in Max's room and feeling like there were a thousand other places he'd rather be. He tapped his knees nervously while Max pounded seemingly randomly on a calculator.

"So Fang," she said finally, looking up. Fang cringed inside. "I wanna briefly kinda let you know how we run things here at our house. I follow _trends._ I'm not a trend _starter, _not a trend_setter. _I 'm not even necessarily _trendy._" She paused. "Though I did have the nickname Trendy Wendy for a while. Thought it was Trendy Wency."

"Trendy Wency?"

"Neon is a trend," Max continued, bypassing Fang's look of revulsion. "And the more neon, the more trendy. You know? Bigger is more! More is bigger! If they turned Hubble around, and looked back at Earth, I want them to see _you! _Flying around, updating you blog, neon, on fire – I want people, when they watch the videos, to feel like their eyes are actually melting from the crap you're wearing."

Max bent down under her desk while Fang processed this. She came back up with a plastic grocery bag which for some reason made Fang feel even more nervous.

"See what I'm talking about." She dumped the bag open on the desk. Inside was about twenty of those light sticks that you crack to make them turn on. "This is left over from when I used to…do a little…do whatever in the 80's."

"You weren't alive in the 80's."

Max clearly did follow trends, because she followed the trend of ignoring Fang. "But, uh, wear it as a headband, take it up when you fly and throw it out to your crowd of rabid fangirls. Just get it going! Get it going on, my man!" Max waved her arm in the air while Fang played awkwardly with a light stick. "Intern! Champagne!"

Iggy came in with a bottle of champagne. Max took a swig right from the bottle, but her eyes narrowed. She looked at the label, and then turned and spat the champagne on the floor.

"I can't drink this crap! Jigga said we're drinkin' _spades!_" She set down the bottle and yelled, "You're fucking fired," after Iggy.

"Don't you think it'll be a little too much?" Fang said uneasily.

"No, everybody's doing it! Say it with me. Just do it!"

"Just…do it?"

"There, look at it. Nike wants you already, man."

"Do they even do neon stuff? Nike?"

"They do now," Max said matter-of-factly.

There was a pause.

"Okay, well…I'll look into it, I guess," Fang said unhappily.

"Yeah. Look into it. Welcome to the family."

**!**

Fang was standing in front of a giant green screen, wearing light stick bracelets, necklaces, a headband, the whole nine yards. His face was painted with neon glow paint. In front of him, Gaz was holding a camera and Nudge had a computer and was adding effects. The camera and the computer were connected with about a million wires.

"Alright…action!" Gaz said, pressing his face to the camera.

In the background, electro music began to play. Fang beat his head to the music, and Nudge added effects over the computer and smiled happily at how it turned out.

"This is…techno…music," Fang said. He heard his voice over the speaker. He sounded autotuned, like a robot. "Ready…set…go. READY SET GO!"

"Start dancing!" Gaz yelled. Fang began dancing a little. "More!" Gaz yelled.

"Techno music!" Fang said. "Dance music. Sex! Sex and drugs. And GO!"

The electro song started playing, the singer was really getting into it. "I love the robot, the robot loves me," Fang said, holding up a tiny robot toy. "It's robot love."

"Yes!" Gaz cried. "More!"

"You rock the party, we rock the party. You rock the party, we rock the party. You rock the party, we rock the party." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Dance with me, dance with me…READY SET GO!"

Gaz laughed really loudly. Nudge's fingers were flying over the effects keyboard.

"Money, hoes, drugs. All day, every day. Sex and drugs and sex and drugs. And dance. _Dance_. Dance. _Dance._ Dance, dance, dance dance dance dance dance ddddddddd –"

"Hang on," Nudge yelled, "my computer crashed." The Windows music blared as her fingers flew over the computer. The error screen blared at her. "Alright, I'm good," she said as everything came back. But Fang was not into it anymore.

"This is getting a little too crazy," he said, his voice still autotuned and weird. "I kind of have a headache. Are you excited for the new Tron? Because I am."

Nudge grinned and pressed a button.

"I love you like woe oh oh oh oh uhoh oh oh ohohohohoh oh woe oh oh oh oh…" The autotune faded away and Fang was standing there, laughing.

"No trends, just music," Gaz muttered.


	7. Where's Fang?

Chapter 7: Where's Fang?

Nudge and Gazzy were playing Dominoes on the floor when Iggy walked up. "Hey, you guys seen Fang?" he asked them. Distractedly, they shook their heads no and Iggy huffed and left.

Max was sitting on the couch eating a banana. "You seen Fang?" Iggy asked, and she shook her head, so Iggy walked on.

Angel was outside, wheeling her bike from the garage. "Hey, you seen Fang?" Iggy asked her, but she also said no, so he walked on.

Ella was listening to a CD in her room. "Ella, you seen Fang?" he asked her, but she shook her head, so Iggy walked on.

He walked into the hall outside the bathroom. Dr. Martinez was putting linens away. "Excuse me, have you seen Fang?" he asked her, but she shook her head, so he walked on.

_Where could he be…_

Behind him, the bathroom door cracked open, and Fang leaned out. He was dressed in a red-and-white striped hat, big round glasses, and a red-and-white striped sweater. He looked around with a grin and then slowly leaned back into the bathroom, the door creaking shut behind him.

"Rule of the Flock, number 42," Fang's voice floated through the hall. "Don't lose Fang. He's important."

Dr. Martinez paused and looked up, confused. Then she shook her head and looked back down, sure she must be hearing things.


	8. Fun With Truck Stops

Chapter 8: Fun With Truck Stops

Fang was asleep in an RV, which was not something he did very often. Dr. Martinez had decided that they would be taking a road trip, and it would be a real road trip. No flying allowed, everyone had to drive. In the RV that she had rented. Fang had fallen asleep a while ago, curled up on the couch.

"Fang. Fang! Fang!" Iggy said, pausing by Fang's couch. Fang rolled over and rubbed his eyes.

"The polar bear is too hot," Fang garbled, still half-asleep.

"Fang, we're at a truck stop. You want anything?"

"Uh. Yeah," Fang said. He rubbed his eyes, thought for a moment, and then slowly rolled back over and tucked his head back in the crook of his arm. Quickly, he was asleep again…

_Fang and Iggy were standing in front of a desk, which in turn was in front of a window. Both were facing the camera and wearing suits. A logo slid in front of them: TSSN: Truck Stop Shopping Network. _

"_Hello, good people of TV land, and welcome to Fang's Blog Truck Stop Shopping Network. Man, do we have some good stuff here for you today," Fang said. _

"_And you can find it right where we found it, at your local Truck Stops of America," Iggy said, pointing at the camera. "Let's dive right in. Fang, what's the first item we have for the good people today?"_

"_Ah," Fang said, clapping his hands together, "we are in for a big day today. Let's start 'er off easy." He looked at Iggy. "Iggy, where are your keys?"_

"_Oh, my gosh! I don't know!" Iggy said dramatically. _

_Fang faced the camera and smiled pleasantly. "That's because I've stolen them."_

_Random dramatic music played, and Fang faded to black and white, holding a criminal record and frowning into a mug shot._

"_To make you the baddest mofo on the block," he continued, reverting back to normal, "with your new muscle-drive key chain."_

_The camera zoomed in on Fang's hand. He was holding a key chain that said MUSCLE CAR DRIVE. A banner on the side popped up, listing bullet points like "Made in China by Chuck Norris's army of illegitimate children." "Each chain comes with muscles." "Car not included." A moving banner on the bottom scrolled across the screen: "Chain comes encrusted with __**years**__ of authentic truck stop grime."_

"_I do love those," Iggy admitted._

"_We all do," Fang reassured him. "And, if you act now, for an extra five ninety five you can show your pride down home. Because you park your ride on Redneck Boulevard."_

_The camera showed another keychain saying REDNECK BLVD. The side banner now read, "Bigotry is forever but deals like this won't last long! ! !" "Barn burning prices!" The scrolling banner read, "These are all real items that we picked up at truck stops over the years. I wish we were joking."_

"_Slap my grits, and kiss my sister that's a good-freakin'-deal," Iggy said enthusiastically._

"_Let me ask you, Iggy," Fang said seriously, looking at his friend. "Do you like to party?"_

"_I do like myself a party," Iggy said. A banjo strummed briefly._

"_And who knows how to party quite as hard as the state of New Jersey?" Fang asked. "You'll be livin' on a prayer with the likes of Frank Sinatra, Bon Jovi, Snooki, and all the other residents of the Garden State with this officially licensed 'I Got A Little Smashed In New Jersey' coffee mug." _

_On the table rested an awkwardly sized mug, crooked and dented, proudly baring the derogatory label. The side banner now advertised, "Too big for shots, too small for coffee." "This mug is completely useless." "Smells like Newark."_

"_Wow," said Iggy. "What better way to celebrate a night of bad decisions in the nation's armpit than with this little number?"_

"_And, if you act now, we'll throw in this Elvis cigarette case for only five ninety nine," Fang said, holding up a cigarette case with Elvis on it. The banners now read "Shot glass and cigarette case come pre-loaded with regret." And, "You're not "the king" until you kiss the Fang's Blog ring."_

"The phones are literally lighting up like fire right now! ! ! !"_ Fang exclaimed. A big FIGURATIVELY was stamped over his face._

_There was a pause, and then Iggy sighed. "Fang, sometimes I don't feel sexy," he said. Wordlessly, Fang pulled out a pair of studded sunglasses and pushed them onto Iggy's face. Iggy stared into the camera for a moment, and then broke down laughing._

"_Have I got the thing for you," Fang said. "At twelve ninety nine, these LA sleek shades won't leave you waiting in line to get in the club! You'll be guzzling down petroleum in no time!" _

_A big red banner plastered itself on the screen: BLING-GASM! The other two read, "Nothing says, "You're money, baby!" like rhinestones." "LOOK AT ME…NO…REALLY…LOOK AT ME! ! !" And, "OMG behotch. These shades are totally fetch. LOLZLOLZ!ROFOL!" "90-day warranty protects against 'bub-spillage'."_

"_Have you ever found something that captures the essence of a moment…perfectly?" Iggy said slowly. The camera slowly zoomed down to the table, where a grandpa beanie was sitting wearing a shirt that said, 'It's simple to be WISE – just think of something STUPID to say and DON'T say it.' and jeans. Cloth glasses were sown to his face. Iggy was clutching its hand, and he squeezed a little button in the doll's palm. A shaky beat emitted from the thing._

"_Don't you wish your grandpa was hot like me? Don't you wish your grandpa was a freak like me? Don't ya? Well? Don't ya?" the thing sang, and Iggy dropped its hand like a hot potato._

_The banners popped back up while the grandfather doll sang and danced. "Certified 'HOT' and 'RAW' freaky grandpa action." "Guaranteed to haunt you day and night." "Sweet merciful crap. Why is this happening?" "Please…make it stop." and a couple other things that this author does not wish to write for fear of disturbing readers._

"_Wow," said Fang, looking down at the doll as it sang, "Don't you wish your grandpa was _raw_ like me? Don't you wish your grandpa was _fun_ like me!" _

_The camera changed back to Fang, all the merchandise gone from the desk. "But wait! If you act now, we'll throw in a heaping mound of beef jerky, a six-week-old hotdog, and an Ed Hardy air freshener to cover up countless weeks of bus farts…"_

Fang slowly woke up, rubbing and opening his eyes to see Iggy slowly come into view.

"Dude, look at what I found at that truck stop," Iggy said, holding something up. In his hand was the grandpa doll.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO….!" Fang cried.

Gaz walked through the RV and looked at the doll before dismissing it with a shake of his head. "Rule of the Flock number 54: Truck stop crap…is still crap," he said, and walked on, Fang's epic NOOOO still echoing in his ears.


	9. Golf or Die

Chapter 9: Golf or Die

Angel was standing in the kitchen, eating something out of a red cup. When she finished eating, she set the cup down on the counter and began to walk away.

Fang, was sitting at the kitchen table, was not happy with that.

"Angel!" he said, and the small girl turned to look at him. "Come on," Fang said, gesturing to the cup. "You just gonna leave this? Seriously, you do this all the time. This is, like…strike three. You need to clean the bathroom. That's your job. Clean that bathroom."

Angel threw her arms up in the air. "Gosh darn it, Fang! I get one strike for not rocking hard enough, two strikes for – for putting a freakin cup – on the table – You know what?" She pulled her sweatshirt over her head and threw it violently to the floor, all like _BLAM!_ Under it she was wearing a black shirt that read RUN AWAY. "Let's settle this like _men!"_ Angel challenged, making a 'come at me bro' stance. _"On the green."_

* * *

Gazzy was standing at the entrance to a putt-putt park, holding a microphone in his hands. "Greetings, golf fanatics!" he said in a horrible English accent. "It's a beautiful day for me, and it's a beautiful day for golf. We're here in downstate Arizona, at the beautiful Broadway driving range and mini putt, and we have _quite _the match for you today."

Fang walked onto the green, dressed in a red plaid lumberjack vest with the sleeves ripped off, black skinny jeans, and sunglasses. "The underdog, Fang "Boy Wonder", has been challenged by "Mad Dog" Angel Grizzly."

Angel walked out, dressed in all black. She was wearing leather fingerless gloves, gold necklaces, and had a fake mustache taped to her upper lip. She growled and bent a golf club over her shoulders. One side of her mustache fell off, and she frowned and pushed it back on.

"Let's meet our opponents," Gazzy said, and walked over to Fang, who was sitting on the picnic bench.

"You know, it's like…" Fang began in an English accent that was even worse than Gazzy's. "I'm just a nice guy. You know, I'm a normal guy."

He looked soulfully into the distance while the wind blew his hair.

"Fang is the underdog here today," Gazzy informed, "he's a loser with a heart of gold."

Fang spit into the grass and then looked back at Gazzy. "There's three rules I live by," he said, his accent mysteriously gone, and held up his fingers. "One. Always get twelve hours of sleep. Or more. Two. Never play cards with anybody named after a city. And three, never get yourself involved with a lady with a tattoo of a dagger on her."

He paused to let that sink in.

"Let's play some golf."

"The odds are stacked up against him twenty to one, but word on the street is that he's got a few tricks up his sleeve," Gazzy said with a knowing smile. He walked over to Angel.

"Fang's opponent, Angel "Mad Dog" Grizzly, is going to prove to be one tough mother to beat on the green today," Gazzy said, watching Angel flex her biceps.

"Oh, you wanna know _my_ prediction for the game today?" Angel asked, nodding. Then she bared her teeth and raised a fist. _"PAIN."_

"Her game of golf is more flawless than Peter Wentz's photoshopped abdomen," Gazzy said with a knowing wink.

"Being number one?" Angel asked. "It's _everything."_ Her mustache flapped a little. "Second _sucks!"_

* * *

"Here we are at the first hole," Gazzy said. Angel was lining up her shot. ""Mad Dog" Angel Grizzly is about to take off."

Angel kissed her club and then struck the ball. It soared down the green, rebounding off the wall, and went straight into the hole.

Clapping could be heard. Angel jumped up. "Ooh, yeah!" she exclaimed. Fang scowled.

"You're about to suck on some golf," he vowed.

He lined up his shot and took it. It soared down the green and rolled around the lip of the hole, sliding back down and rolling away. A chorus of disappointed "Ooohs" could be heard.

"Fang will make par," Gazzy said sadly, shaking his head, "but that kind of golf will just _not_ cut it today."

They continued on through the course, each scoring an even amount of hole in one's and perfect par.

"The world meets nobody halfway," Angel growled.

"You want something in this world?" Fang asked, shooting a finger gun and then blowing away imaginary smoke. "In this life? You go out there and you _take _it." He looked into the distance, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses. "I'm takin' – I'm takin' _all_ of it." His expression was serious. "In golf…"

* * *

It was the 18th hole. Fang was lining up his final shot, and Gazzy slid in next to him, holding his microphone, still talking in his corny accent.

"We've seen some serious golf today," he reviewed, "but it all comes down to this. After eighteen holes of filth and fury, it all boils down to just one…last…putt."

The whole world seemed to hole its breath as Fang tested once, twice…and then he made contact, and the ball was off, rolling down the green.

It stopped about five inches away from the hole.

"Road rule number 1," Gazzy said sadly. "Life's not fair."

* * *

Fang and Angel were sitting on a bench, Angel with a tall pink soft serve and Fang with two scoops in a cake cone. Both were eating hungrily, but affably.

"Road rule number 2," Gazzy announced. "All disputes shall be resolved with ice cream."

Angel stood suddenly. The ends of her mustache were pink from the soft serve. "Snap into some _golf!"_ she cried, and tackled Fang.

His scream was the last thing we heard…


End file.
